VOL. 47 The Huntingdon Journal, J. IL DURBORROW, Office on the Corner of Bath and Washing:one:reels. Tug IloNvisnoos Tourism. is published every Wednesday, by J. It. Dunnonnow and J. A. NASH, under the firm name of J. II„ Dunaonnow & Co., at $2,0 .per annum, IN ADVANCE, or $2,50 if not paid for in six months from date of subscription, and $3 if not paid within the year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the publishers, until all arrearages are paid. ADVERTISEMENTS will be inserted at TEN C.v.; per line for each of the first four insertions, •ud FIVE cases per line for each subsequent inser tion less than three months. Regular monthly and yearly advertisements will he inserted at the following rates: 3ml ml 9 400 1 1 3m 61n, o'll y 600 ~cul 21Tio°. $ --- 1). , 5T2 600 10 00'14 03,13 00,,, Si 0060 uu 6 5 80 8 00,1400 . 21 00'21 001 1 Ineb 950 'lBOO O; c. 1 136 ooioo 00l so' 100 - • - - - - Special notices will be inserted at TWELVE AND A ItALF CENTS per line, and local 'and editorial no tices at FIFTEEN CENTS per line. All Resolutions of As;ociations, Communications of limited or individual interest, and notices of Mar riages and Deaths, exceeding five lines, will be charged eta ceses per line. Legal and other notices will be charged to the party having them inserted. Advertising Agents must Ind their commission outside or these figures. All advertising accolade are dne and collectable when tile, advertisement once inse rted. JOB PRINTING of every kind, in Plain and Fancy Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— Iland-bills, Blanks, Cards. Pamphlets, kc. of every variety and style, printed at the shortest notice, and every thing in the Printing line will be execu ted in the most artistic manner and at the lowest vales. Professional Cards. Tlt , F. GEEIRETT, M. D., IsCLEC • TIC PHYCICIAN AND SUIZGEON hay ing returned from Clearfield county and perma nently located in Shirleysburg. offers his profes sional services to the people of that place and sur rounding country. apr.3-1872. DR. F. 0. ALLEMAN can be con salted at his office, at all hours, Mapleton, Pa. [march6,l2. CALDWELL, Attorney -at -Law, D• o. 111, 3d street. Office formerly occupied by Messrs. Woods & Williamson. [upl2,'ll. DR. J. C. FLEMMING respectfully offers his professional services to the citizens of Iluntingdon and vicinity. Office No. 743 Wash ingtpn Street. may 24. DR. A. E. BRUMBAUGH, offers his professional services to the community. Office, No. 523 Washington street, one door east of the Catholic Parsonage. pan. 4,71. EJ. GREENE, Dentist. Office re . movedd to Leister's now building, Hill street P,ltingdon. Unn.4,'7l. GL. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T. • Br, no's new building, No. 520, Hill St., Huntingdon, Pa. [apl2,'7l. GLAZIER, Notary Public, corner II • of Washington and Smith streets, Hun tingdon, Pa. [ jan.l2'7l. HC. MADDEN, Attorney-at-Law • Office, No. —, Hill meet, Huntingdon, Pa. [ap.lo;7l. SYLVANIJS BLAIR, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street, hreo doors west of Smith. [jan.4'7l. JR. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth • wary, opposite the Exchange bow, Linn ingdon, Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded. Pare Liquors for Medicinal purposes. (n0v.23,70. JHALL MUSSER, Attorney-at-Law, . No. 319 11111 st., Huntingdon, Pa. [jan.4l7l. R. DURBORROW, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will practice in the several Courts of Huntingdon county. Particular attention given to the settlement of estates of dece dents. Office in he JOnRXAL Building. [feb.l,7l j W. MATTEIIN, Attorney-at-Law v • and General Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., Soldiers' claims against the Government for back pay, bounty, widows' and invalid e ensions attend ed to with great care and promptness.. Office on Hill street. • 1jan.4,'71. Tr , ALLEN LOVELL, Attorney-at • Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to COLLECTIONS of all kinds; to the settle ment of Bstates, .tc.; and all other Legal Business prosecuted with fidelity and dispatch. figif Office in room lately occupied by R. Milton Speer, Esq. (jan.4,'7l. MILES ZENTMYER, Attorney-at- Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend promptly to all legal business. Office in Cunningham's new building. ban:ll7l. R. ALLISON MILLER. R. DUCILCIALN. MILLER & BUCHANAN, DENTISTS, No. 228 Hill Street, HUNTINGDON, PA. April 5, '7l-ly Tbi M. & M. S. LYTLE, Attorneys at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa., will attend to all kinds of legal business entrusted to their care. Officio on the - soatli side of Hill street, fourth door west of Smith. rjan.4,7l. RI A. ORBISON, Attorney-at-Law, • Office, 321 Hill street, Huntingdon, Pa: [may3l,'7l. JOHN SOOTY. P. T. BROWN. J. X. BAILEY QCOTT, BROWN & BAILEY, At torneys-at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Pensions, and all claims of soldiers and soldiers' heirs against the Government will be promptly prosecuted. Office on Hill street. [jan.4,'7l. rri W. MYTON, Attorney-at-Law, Han -A- • tingdon, Pa. Office with J. Sewell Stewart, Eeq. [jan.4,'7l. NVILLIAM A. FLEMING, Attorney at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention given to collections, and all other legal business attended to with care and promptness. Office, No. 229, Hill street. [apl9,'7l. Miscellaneous (10 TO THE JOURNAL OFFICE ... ,1 1 >•ur all kinds of printing. E.CHANGE HOTEL, Huntingdon, Pa. JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor. January 4, 1871. NEAR THE RAILROAD DEPOT, COR. WAYNE and JUNIATA STREETT UNITED STATES HOTEL, HOLLIDAYSBURG, PA M'CLAIN & CO., PROPRIETORS ROBT. KING, Merchant Tailor, 412 Washington street, Huntingdon, Pa.. a lib eral share of patronage respectfully solicited. A prill2, 1871. LEWISTOWN BOILER WORKS. GEORGE PAWLING A CO., Mannfae nrcrs of Locomotive and Stationary Boilers, Tanks, Pipes, Filling-Barrows for Furnaces, and Sheet Iron Work of every deeoription. Works on Logan street, Lewistown, Pa. All' orders pr , ,ntly attended to. Repairing done at short nou.e. [Apr 5,'71,1y.* A. It. BECK, Fashionable Barber • and Hairdresser, Hill street, opposite the Franklin House. All kinds of Tonics and Pomades kept on hand and for Bale. [ap19,71-13m ~i• .4 --. %It' . 'MT !..-- •- •, -K Z. -- -:;-:- • ~ .• ..,.:... _..:: 9 -- 1. -_., , ..,.. a. ..• 1 k I V . f '. e l t C ! rai i _':''' . untin on ,Journal• at Poo' Pam J. A. NASII, The Trundle Bed As I rummaged through the garret, List'ning to the falling rain, As it pattered on the shingles, And against the window pane, Peeping over chests and boxes, hich with dust were thickly spread. Saw I in the farthest corner What was once toy trundle bed. And I drew it from the recess, Where it had retnnined so long, Hearing nll the while the music . . . Of my mother's voice in song-- As she sung in sweetest accents. What I since have often rend— 'flush, my dear, lie still and slumber, lloly angels guard they bed." As I listened, recollections That I thought had been forgot, Came with all the gush of memory, Rushing, thronging to the spot, As I wandered back to childhood, To those merry days of yore, When I knelt betide my mother, By this bed upon the floor. Then it was, with hands so gently Placed upon my infant head, That she taught my lips to utter Ca •ofully the words she said. Neve• can they be forgotten Deup are they in memory graven— " Hallowed he Thy name, 0 Father! Father! Thou Who art in Heaven.' This she taught me; then she told mo Of its import groat and deep; - After which I learned to utter n Now 1 lay me down to sleep." Then it was with hands uplifted, And in accents soft and mild, That my mother asked "Our Father!' " Father, do Thou bless my child." Years have passed, and that dear mother Long has mouldered 'nenth the sod, And I trust her sainted spirit Bevels in the home of God. But that scene at summer twilight Never has from memory fled, And it comes in all its freshness When I sco my traltoile bed. Uhe Anil-F.411m Miss Warner's Adventure. SPIUNKLE ! rain ! shower l right down on Millie Warner's tasteful little hat and graceful shoulders, unprotected save by a thin shawl, notwithstanding the beseeching glance of the prettiest pair of hazel eyes that ever looked up to a cloud in that way. The inexorable, stony-hearted thing just poured out its deluging treasures without minding them 'the least bit in the world. Now, Millie wasn't afraid of a shower unless there was thunder and lightning; but she had quite a regard - for her pretty hat, which was not two weeks old, and did hate dreadfully to have it spoiled. Nevertheless, when Millie came to a large white farm-house, she very gladly, an% rather hastily—for just then there was a loud peal of thunder—opened the gate and went up the flowered-bordered path to the house, and knocked for admittance. No body answered, and as another • peal of thunder was heard, accompanied by a viv id flash of lightning, Millie entered with out ceremony. She took in at a glance the contents of • the first room she came to—a Ilifge square room, plainly but neatly fur nished—the me-seated chairs, the pretty chintz-covered lounge, book-case filled with books and sheet-music, the violin in its case in the corner, the vases of faded flowers, and the few ornaments on the mantel.— There was no one there, but she beard childish voices in the room, and again knocked. A dark-eyed girl of ten or elev en years, opened the door. explained why she was there.— With the ease and good manners of one much older, the child bade her welcome, placed a chair near the stove, and took Millie's dripping hat and shawl. "I was just beginning to get dinner, that was the reason (didn't hear you knock.— It will be a long time before the shower is. over, and you must stay with us to dinner. It will be ready by the time Ben comes; but that will not be for about a half or three-quarters' of an hour." "Es,dinnie'll be weddy when Ben tams," lisped and laughed a little girl of three years. The elder child, whose name was Bettie, resumed : "I can't get a very good liuuOi. I at[a., quite old enough, but Ben says I do nicely. He puts it on fur me, and I see to it. But he does not allow me to take off kettles, for fear I will burn or scald myself; but I think I am large enough to do that. I like to have everything ready for him to cat when he comes in tired and hungry. I can't make biscuit—l wish I could, for Ben likes them ever so much; but Martha, who comes in to make bread for us, says she will teach me." "Where is your mother ?" asked Millie of the little Eva, when Bettie was out of the room. "We is got no madder but Ben," the little one lisped. When Hetty came back, Minnie said : "Now I have got nicely warmed, and my dress will dry just as well at work as sit ting still; so I will help you get dinner.— If you like, I will make some biscuit, and we will have dinner ready in a very short time." Hetty was delighted, Ben would be glad. "Might she look on and learn how ?" Millie was young, and frank, and gay, and she and the children soon became very well acquainted over the biscuit. She said, presently, trying a potato with a fork : "The potatoes are done. I will pour the water off so, and then put them on again to get dry. That will make them mealy. In a few moments we will peel them, and then dinner will be all ready except taking it up." The dinner seemed very meagre to little Hetty as she ran over the items in her mind—potatoes, peas, pork, biscuit, butter, cucumbers, milk and water. She had wanted to make tea for her visitor, but she declined decidedly. The poor child said, apologetically : - "When father and mother were alive we used to have a good many things for din ner, and Martha, our hired girl, used to get them all, but when they died, and Squire Johns said he bought a mortgage on our farm, and that we had got to pay every cent the day it was due, or lose ev erything, we had to do without a good many things, and are very poor now, and Ben is afraid we can't have enough to pay it, and they all say we may look for no mercy from Squire Johns, fir he is a very bard man to the poor, and he has always wanted our farm, because it joins some of his own land where be wants to build. I heard all about it when one of the neigh bors was talking with Ben, though he didn't want me to know about it." Millie bad listened to this with a curious mixture of feelings, for Squire Johns was a declared lover of hers, and though she had not accepted him, she had been both pleased and flattered with his attention bi 4 had certainly given him no encouragement. Ho was to receive his final answer in three Mahls-tf days from that time, and she was not sure the answer reserved and laid away for that time was "no." True, Millie was not in love with him, but she had waited so long in vain for that estatic state of feeling she bad read and heard so ninth about, that she was quite decided that she was not ca pable of love, and that to like any one was as much as she could expect. But she certainly liked Squire Johns as well if not better than any one, and his love must certainly be disinterested, for he could not know that—. But now Millie stopped. Could he not ? Might he not have found out in some way ? If this story were true, would such a man be likely to marry a poor girl? For Millie Warner was really an heiress in a small way. She was sole inheritor of a fine unencumbered farm from her father, and five thousand in bank stock. But the farm was two hundred miles south of this town, where she was visiting a cous in and nobody knew of it; and during her visit she had helped her cousin in her work as she had always helped her mother when she was at home—capable, industrious lit tle girl that she was. This story agreed with things that she bad heard hinted at, and even that the next moment was smoothed over, for Squire Johns was a rich and influential man, and people could not afford, without some rea son, to lose his favor. She remembered it all now. Could he in reality be such a scoundrel ? She could judge better about the truth of the story when she had seen Ben. Who was Ben ? Two or three inquiries had amounted to nothing. The children spoke as though everybody knew who Ben was. Was he an uncle, cousin, hired man or what? Evidently somebody very old by the way Hwy spoke of him. Whoever it was, what would he think of her intrusion ? But she couldn't help what he thought, and she shrugged her shoulders as she looked out at the still pouring rain.. "Ben has tnm !" echoed the little one, clapping her hands, as he came in, bright and smiling. As he came in he caught her up in his arms and gave her a kiss, while she laugh ed and shouted; but his eyes were seeking the stranger. lietty said, prettily : "3ly brother Ben." Then to him: :This lady got caught in the shower, Ben, and is staying until it clears up. She has been so kind as to help me to get dinner, and has made some splendid biscuit." They both stood mute a moment, she with surprise at the real Ben, young, hail& some, and well-bred . ; he with admiration, and a strange new feeling he could not de fine. He had hardly bade her welcome, with a return of his self-possession, when_ there was a loud rap at the street door.— Hetty went to the door, came back pale, and whispered to Ben : "Squire Johns." Millie drew quickly back from the half opened door. Ben went in to his visitor, closing the door after him, but every word was distinctly heard by Millie, for Squire Johns did not speak in thelow, suave tone she was accustomed to hear him, but loud and peremptory. "I am in haste, young man ; I just stop ped to say that the time for the payment for the money due me, being day after to morrow, if it is not ready I shall be obli ged immediately to resort to severe meas ures." "Impossible I" exclaimed the young man in a surprised and excited tone, "you are very much mistaken. It is not due until the 28th, it is now but the 18th. At that time, if I sell the piece of land I partly expect to do, I hope, with some other mon ey coming in, to be able to pay it." "You are laboring under a singular mis take young man. Here is the mortgage, and you can see for yourself that it is the 18th." "Let me see it." The figures danced upon the page. He passed his hands over his eyes and calmed himself with a great effort. He grew ashy pale as he read. "it reads so, certainly, but I can't un derstand it." He went to the desk. "Here is a note my father made of the circum stance, and it is the 28th, and he was a very sure methodical man, and would not be likely to make a mistake that might be con sequences to him. I believe—" a sudden suspicion coming into his mind, as he de tected a lurking triumph in Squire Johns' eye—"l believe there is some viliginy about this matter, and that you are at the bottom of it," he exclaimed excitedly, fix ing his eyes firmly upon the lawyer, who changed color in spite of himself. "Be careful what you say, young man, as you may get yourself into trouble," he said angrily. "Yes, sir, I believe you are a base vil lain ! I remember you are the lawyer who made out the mortgage at the time, and know that you have been aching for years to get hold of this property. IK there is justice in law you shall be exposed !" "In the meantime you had better have the money ready," he replied coolly and insultingly. "That is impossible, as you know. Yon know sery well I could not raise so nr.ch money in two days, when you made your diabolical plans." '•Then you know the consequences." "And what is to become of my young "I neither know nor care. That is your lookout." The young man strove to repress his passions yet. "Squire Johns, by the 28th I can pay that debt, I expect." "That will do no good. It must be ready by the 18th, or I take possession. I might have shown you mercy but for your insinuations. Now, none." "That is false !, and you know it. Yon never showed mercy in your life. You have won your ill gotten wealth by rob bing the widow and the fatherless. If you take this property, may it bring you a curse with it, now and evermore ! But while it is in my hands I'll kick you from it, you dastardly scoundrel?" The Squire was a small man as well as a coward, and while he was being ignomin iously ejected from the house by the an gry and excited young man, Hetty was crouched down close to Millie, pale and frightened. Eva was sobbing in her lap, and Millie—it would be difficult to de scribe her feelings. Ben did not come into the room for sometime afterward. When he did, he looked haggard and aged, and was passing through hastily, as if to escape notice, when Millie, business-like and straightfor ward little girl that she was; began : "Mr. Hazwell, I want to talk with you a few minutes. There would be no use in pretending that I haven't heard what you and Squire Johns have been saying, for I have heard every word. I think I know of some one who can help you ; but first may I ask you a sew questions?" Ben, at first, looked displeased and HUNTINGDON, PA., APRIL 17, 1872 haughty; but her kind, straightforward manner disarmed him. He bowed assent. "What is the amount of this mort gage ?" "Two thousand dollars and interest," was the brief reply. "What is the totalvalue of the farm ?" "My father valued it at ten thousand dollars." "Are there other mortgages ?" 'None.' "Very well; I am quite positive I know some one who can loan you the money. I am Millie Warner. Call on me to-morrow, at my cousin's, Mrs. Sanford's. Ben's dreams were strangely mixed up that night with mortgages and hazel eyes. The next day was a long time of suspense and anxiety, and early in the evening found him at the Sanford's, where was received by Millie herself. The next morning, accompanied by a neighbor, he called on Squire Johns. ' l- He was at breakfast, il the servant said. An angry light shown in Squire Johns' cold, gray eye, when he heard who was his visitor. . "How dare he come here ! I warrant, though, the chap isn't quite so high and mighty as he was the last time I saw him. Humble enough this morr.ing—l would hold out hopes of mercy until he grovels and begs my pardon—grovels low as tie laid me, and then I'll be revenged. To morrow this splendid farm, added to my other property, and the possession of Millie Warner's hand and fortune, will make me a rich and happy man, indeed. I will tant alize him to his heart's content." He went leisurely into the other room "You arc early this morning, young man. I conclude you have come to pay the moncy,". he said ironically. "That's my errand," replied Ben cooly. Squire Johns started back aghast and thunderstruck. "Do you mean to say you have raised the money?" "I do, and I have brought Mr. Foster to prove that it is all right. There is two thousand dollars. We have each counted it. There is the interest. Now I will take up the mortgage Squire Johns." Livid, and trembling with passion, Squire Johns was compelled to yield the mortgage and execute the usual release. "Now, Squire." said Ben, "I have one word more to say : Don't you ever dare set foot on my land again, or I'll kick you off. Mind that. Nor ever dare to speak to me again. I don't know such a rascal as you !" "I'll have satisfaction of you!" and the Squire literally foamed with passion. "Have it, and welcome," replied Ben, cooly, "as long as you havn't got the farm. Come, Foster." There was no trace of the violent passions to which the Squire had gave free license, when the next evening, he drove up to Sanford's. He looked happy and smiling. There was a queer little smile on Millie Warner's face as she saw bim through the closed blinds. It was a little ominous that he was compelled to wait in the parlor alone five, ten, fifteen minutes. Still more ominous that she came in at last, distant and unsmiling. Still, he could hardly be lieve he heard aright when, to his suit, she gave a prompt, uncompromising ''no He urged; she was firm. He threatened; she flashed out, brave and indignant, something of what she knew and felt, and spurned him and his suit with scorn and loathing. "Such a threat to a girl is worthy of you! of a piece with your conduct to the Hazwells !" she added. "To the Hazwells ! What do you know about them ? Perhaps you are the one who loaned the money to them ?" • "Yes, it was I. I went there for shelter from the storm. I heard it all ; every word." The Squire muttered curses low and deep, but Millie did not stay to hear them. She only saw him ride away, with that same queer little smile on her face. Squire Johns rode a long distance out of his way, six months after, to avoid a wedjing party just returning from church —Ben Haswell and Millie, his wife, which he came very near blundering upon. Waitt gaittiowp Written for the Jou... The Old Man Trounced Me ; But Fooled Him at Last, BY W. 11. W The above title belongs to a story, which I will relate : It was a mild summer's evening; the king of day had just dropped his golden sheen behind the western hills, after bath ing bill and dale with his resplendent rays. The beautiful moon soon began to shoot her silver beams into the Heavens, and then could be seen peeping over the crest of the eastern mountains, which stood as vast sentinels, as much as to say, you shall not be in darkness long. I never saw a more soul-elevating evening. The entire country was rife with the perfumes of fresh blooming flowers ; the birds had just hushed their caroling amid the green branches and wild flowers of the meadow. I was seated with three friends, two of which was but young, like myself; the oth er a middle-aged man, but as young in feeling as any of usAMr. Brown being his name). We were lounging on the green grass, beneath a large oak tree, which stood in the centre of a green meadow, a little elevated above a sparkling stream of water, and were singing songs and telling stories. I had just finished relating a story, which appeared in the JOURNAL a few weeks ago, titled "How Peter Green was scared out of getting a Wife," when Mr. Brown said, "Peter was in as bad a fix as I was," "for the old man trounced me. but I fooled him at last." Most naturally we asked him how that was, and he began to relate his courtship, which "brought the house down," and gave Pgter Green a great deal of sympathy : "I was a poor younr , man, but industri ous. I fully expected to be rich, some day, and began to look around for a lady that would make me a suitable wife, once that day had come. The greatest difficulty I had to contend with was my being poor. I had set my standard high, and the rich girls knew it, and they thought I was after their money, and they looked at me in a way I didn't like much; but they didn't do me justice, for all I wanted was a true, loving heart. I soon fell in love with an old farmers daughter, who i7ls the richest man in all the country, but I knew just as well as I had a head on my shoul ders that he would not let me have his daughter Ellie, for he wouldn't allow any of the boys to come within a gun shot of the house. I made up my mind to run up on the old man, if I could but win the af fections of the daughter. I soon made her acquaintance, and found that she was awfully tickled with me, for, I'll tell you boys, I was tall—well you may guess the rest,—she was young, and tender as a gosling, and you know how they dislike the idea of being old maids, so I often talked to her, when I met her at church, or elsewhere, about the great danger, put ting all the stress on danger, of young girls having to be old maids simply because they all wanted rich husbands. She looked up at me with her dove eyes, God bless her, and said, "I Jon't." You know it was just what I wanted to hear, then I began to tell her how much I would love to marry a poor girl, and elevate her to a .high position in life, for I was confident that I would some day be rich. I thought she wished then that she was poor, but I didn't. She soon told me all about her father, and said I would not dare to come to see her; but as we were walking home from church one night, I persuaded her that the old man liked me, and that he would not care to let me court her. So I went in. We had not been in but a few moments when in come the old man, as big and as fat as a bear. "Good evening, sir," he said. (I thought that was pretty good). "Did you come home with Ellen ?" "I did, sir," I said very tenderly. "Well I want you to get out of this, and don't you ever show your head in here again. Light him to the door, Ellen." I began to think my ascent on the old man was not so smooth, or fast, but I made good use of the time, and while at the door I told Ellie that I would come to see her the next Saturday evening, after ten o'- clock, then the old man would be in bed. I declared my love to her, and asked her to meet me at that time and hour. She said she would. So I went, and, as I had predicted, the old man was in bed, and Ellie and I made our way to the kitchen, which was further from his room. Now had I all the eloquence combined, that poets have been gifted with, I could not tell of the rapturous delights of those hours. It was growing late, and I spoke of go. ing home, when I heard the old man light out on the floor, till he shook the house, my heart thumped against my ribs, till I thought it would break through. My re treat was cut off, save the cellar way, and Ellie said : "Go down, quick, you can find the door." And, down the steps I started; into a strong, dark regiim. 1 began to feel about for the door, when I came sock up against the wall, my nose struck first, causing me to stagger back a few steps; there being a tub full of fresh-ground sausage meat near by, my heels struck the tub, and in I went, backwards, up to my arms. I sprang to my feet, as mad as a hornet, while the sausage meat clung to me in great lumps. I have often thought since of my darling Ellie having to eat that sausage, but I couldn't help it. I now saw a window, and I started for it; I had made but a step or two, when I landed, full length, in a big milk trough, smashing the crocks, spilling the milk, and skinning my head at an awful rate. I now heard the old man coming, so I made another bolt; this time I bit the door; it was well for me that I ,did,,for he yelled, "I'll skin you alive if I -catch you," and no doubt he would have done so, if be had known how I had been in his tub of sausage meat, and smashed the milk crocks. I was so weak I hardly could get home, but was greased just enough to cause me to vow to slip up on the old man. I didn't go bac!: for a low , ' time, till one eveninr , I saw the old folks driving down the road. I knew at once they were out for a visit, so I fixed up to go to see Ellie. I found her at home, and she said she was glad to see me, too. I thought the old folks would not be home till the next evening. I will not stop to tell you what a delight ful time we had, for I fancied I was in a bee hive, without the bees, all covered over with honey; but I got the most on my lips, and appeared to be the thickest around my neck. Well this was all cut short, about ten o'clock, by the old man driving up to the door. I was now in the wrong room fur the cellar, and all retreat was cut off, save the window. and I made for that. I threw it up, and was 'bout half way out, when it fell down on my back. I was on t perjeet - rratance: tint. ground with my hands or the floor with my feet. By this time the old man bad come in with his buggy whip, and seeing me in the window, he began to trounce me at a very unpleasant rate; he lashed me till I could see stars without opening my eyes. I kicked, for I had something to kick about, and yelled till you could have heard me a mile. I began to think the old man was running up on me. At last he pulled me in, "to skin me alive," as I thought ; I said, "please sir, don't," but it was of no use. After he got me in, he said : "What did you come here for ?" I promptly answered, "to see Ellie." "You see me too," and he began to slash it to me. I found I would have to do something. fur my limbs began to feel as though a thousand bees had lit upon them, so I thought I would play off on him, and down I dropped at his feet, It acted like a charm, for he thought he had about fin ished me, and he cried out : "Mother, come here quick:" The old lady, who had been standing in the hall, came in. "Why, pap," she cried. "you have killed the boy, and we will all be hung." The old man was scared ncw, just about as badly as I bad been a few minutes be fore. I found that I was working up on the old man. He now picked me up in his arms and carried me into his own room, and put me on his own bed ; quite a change in the prograinme. I was playing it well, for I was as dead to the old than as a mackerel, and when he took hold of my hands, I made them as stiff as his old back. He now thought he had killed me, sure, and began to snivel. It took all the powers within me to keep from laughing, for I thought you'll not "skin me alive," now. Ellie and the old lady was crying fit to break their hearts, and the old lady cried out : "Pap, you did wrong, he was good enough for Ellen, and you had no business to whip him to death." He now began to sob convulsively, for no doubt he began to think about hanging. He stroked my hair back with the same hands which were to skin rne,and that had trounced me so confoundedly hard ; but I had him by the breeches now, thank for tune, and I meant to hold bins. So he stroked my hair and used his pocket-hand kerchief at an awful rate. At last he said : "Poor boy, I didn't mean to do this." At that I gave a little sigh, he sprang to his feet, and said : "Thank heaven, he is not dead." I sighed again, dear Ellie sprang to my side, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. I opened my eyes just in time to see the old man slipping out of the room, as pale as a corpse. I'll tell you, gentle men, he didn't get in that bed that night, for I was contented to stay there myself. Daring the night I laid my plans, and the next morning I was awful sick. I asked for a doctor, who was a friend of mine; he was there in a few minutes, and I told him all. He laughed, and said he would help me; so he went to the old man and told him that he would have to consent to let me have Ellie, for that trouble along with my illness, was more than I could bear. What could the old man say, but yes, to keep from banging. So yon see, I had him. And I'll tell you, gentlemen, I would seat myself again in a sausage tub, fall in a milk trough, be trounced and play dead, to make fbrty thousand and a big farm, and one of the best wives living. The Constitutional Convention Bill The following is the text of the Con stitutional Convention Bill as passed by both Houses and submitted to the Gov ernor for his approval : .4n act to provVe for calling a Convention to amend the Constitution. SECTION 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the Com monwealth of Pennsylvania in General As sembly met, and it is hereby enacted by the authority of the same, That at the general election to be held on the second Tuesday in October next, there shall be elected by the qualified electors of this Commonwealth delegates to a convention to revise and amend the Constitution of this State. The said convention shall consist of one hundred and thirty-three members, to be elected in the manner following : Twenty eight members thereof shall be elected in the State at large, as follows :—each voter of the State shall vote for not more than fourteen candidates, and the twenty-eight highest in vote shall be declared elected. Ninety-nine delegates shall be apportioned to and elected from the different Senatori al districts of the State; three delegates to be elected for each Senator therefrom; and in choosing all district delegates each voter shall be entitled to vote for not more than two of the members to be choosen from his district, and the three candidates highest in vote shall be declared elected, except in the county of Alleghaney, form ing the twenty-third Senatorial District, where no voter shall vote for more than six candidates, and the nine highest in vote shall be elected; and in the counties of Luzerne, Monroe and Pike forming the Thirteenth Senatorial District, where no voter shall vote for more than four candi dates, and the six highest in vote shall be elected ; and six additional delegates shall be chosen from the city of Philadelphia, by a vote at large in said city, and in their election no voter shall vote for more than ' 1 three candidates and the six highest in vote shall be declared elected. SECTION 2. The following regulations shall apply to the aforesaid election to be held on the second Tuesday of October nest, and to returns of the same : First. The said election shall be held and conducted by the proper election of ficers of the several election districts of the Commonwealth, and shall be governed and regulated in all respects by the Gen eral Election laws of the Commonwealth so far as the same shall be applicable there to and not inconsistent with the provisions of this act. Second. The tickets to be voted for members of the oonvention shall have on the outside, "District Delegates" and on the inside the name or names of the can didates voted for, not exceeding the prop er number limited as aforesaid; but any ticket which shall contain a ereater num ber of names than the number for which the voter shall be entitled shall be rejected; and in the case of the delegates to be chosen at large in Philadelphia the words "City Delegates" shall be on the outside of the ticket. Fourth. In the city of Philadelphia the return judges shall meet at the State House at ten o'clock, on the Thursday fol lowinn•b the election, and make out the re turns for said city of the votes cast there in for delegates at large, and city and dis trict delegates to be members of the con vention. The return judges of the sever al election districts within each county of PhiLulelnhin. shalL meet on the Friday next following the election at the usual place for the meeting of the return judges of their . county, and shall make out full and accurate returns for the county of the votes cast therein for members of the convection and for die trict members of the same; and the pro ceedings of the return judges of the said city of Philadelphia, and of the several counties of the Commonwealth in the ma king of their returns, shall be the same as those presented for return judges in the case of an election for Governor, except that returns transmitted to the Secretary of the Commonwealth shall be addressed to that officer alone and not to the Speaker of the Senate. Fifth. The Prothonotary of Philadel phia and the prothonotaries of the several counties shaP with referance to such re turns. promptly and faithfully perform all the duties enjoined upon theni by the eighty-fifth sections of the General Elec tion act of July 2, 1539. Sixth. The Secretary of the Common wealth shall, as soon as the returns of the said election shall be received by him, and at all events within fifteen days after the election, in the presence of the Gov ernor and Auditor General, open and com pute all the returns received of votes giv en for members of the convention, and the Governor shall forthwith issue his procla mation declaring the names of the per sons who have been chosen members of the convention. SECTION 3. It shall be the duty of the delegates elected as aforesaid to assemble in convention, in the ball of the House of Representatives, at the State Capitol, in Harrisburg, on the second Tuesiay of November, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-two, at twelve o'clock M., that day, with general powers of adjournment as to time and place; and it shall be the duty of the Secretary of the Common wealth to call the convention to order at the time of its assembling, and to submit all the returns of election in his possession, and to read the aforesaid proclamation of the Governor, and thereupon said conven tion shall proceed to organize by electing one of their number president, and, after the members are sworn in, such other of ficers as may be needed in the transaction of business. . SECTION 4. Said convention so elected, assembled and organized, shall have power to propose to the citizens of this Common wealth, for their approval or rejection, a new Constitution, or amendments to the present one, or specific amendments to be voted for separately, which shall be en grossed and signed by the president and chief clerk and delivered to the Secretary of the Commonwealth, by whom and nn- der whose direction it or they shall be en tered on record in his office and published once a week in at least two newspipera in each county, where two papers are pub lished, for four weeks next preceding the day of election that shall be held for the adoption or rejection of the Consti tution or amendments so submitted ; Provided, That one-third of all the mem bers of the convention shall have the right to require the separate and distinct sub mission to a proper vote of any change and amenement proposed by the conven tion; and provided further, net nothing herein contained shall authorize the said convention to change the language or to alter in any manner the several provisions of the ninth article of the present Con stitution, commonly known as the Decla ration of Rights; but the same shall be excepted from the powers given to said convention, and shall be and remain invio late forever; .find provided further, That the said convention shall not create, estab lish or submit any proposition for the es tablishment of court or courts with exclu sive equity jurisdtction. SECTIO - N 5. The convention shall sub mit the amendment agreed to by it to the qualified voters of the State for their adop tion or rejection at such time or times and in such manner as the convention shall prescribe; subject, however, to the limi tation as to the separate submission of amendments contained in this act; and all amendments accepted by a majority vote of the electors voting thereon shall become a part of the Constitution. SECTION 6. The election to decide for or against the adoption of the new -Con stitution, or specific amendments, shall be conducted as the general elections of this Commonwealth are now by law conducted; and it shall be the duty of the return judges of the respective counties, first hav ing ascertained the number of votes given for or against the new Constitution, or separate specific amendments, if any, to make out duplicate returns thereof express ed in words at length, one of which returns so made shall be filed in the office of the prothonotary of the proper county, and the other sealed and directed to the Sec retary of the Commonwealth, which said returns shall be opened, counted and pub lished as the returns for Governor are now by law counted and published ; and when the number of votes given for or against the new or revised Constition, or for or against separate specific amendments, if any, shall have been summed np and as certained, and the duplicate certificates thereof delivered to the proper officers; the Governor shall declare by proclama tion the result of the election, and if a majority of the' votes polled shall be for the new or revised Constitution, or for any separate specific amendments, shall be thenceforth the Constitution of this Commonwealth. SECTION 7. The entire compensation and allowance to each member of the convention shall be as follows: For sal ary, one thousand dollars; for mileage, ten cents per mile circular, not to be al lowed at more than two sessions; for post age,'ltationery and contingencies, fifty dollars; the clerks and other officers to be allowed such compensation as the con vention shall direct. Warrants for com pensation of members and officers, and for all proper expenses of the convention, shall be drawn by the President and coun tersigned by the chief clerk, upon the State Treasurer for payment. SECTION S. That in - case of vancancies in the membership of said convention the same shall be filled as follows :—lf such vacancy shall be of a member at large of the convention, those members at large who shall have been voted for by the same voters or by a majority of the same voters, who shall have voted for and elected the member whose place is to be filled, shall fill such vacancy. If such vacancy shall be of a district or city member of the con vention, those members at large of the con vention who shall have been voted for by the same or by a majority of the same vo ters who shall have voted for such district or city member, shall fill such vacancy. In either ease the appointment to fill a vacan cy shall be made by the members at large aforesaid, or by a majority of them, in writing, and all such written appointments shall be filed among the convention re coftts.- SECTION 9. That the Secretary of the Commonwealth shall prepare a form of no tice of the election to be held for the pur pose of choosing members of the aforesaid convention, including such portions of this act as shall be necessary and proper for the information of voters and election of ficers at the said election, as to their re spective rights and dutie4 in relation there to, which said forms so prepared shall be transmitted by him to the sheriff's of the several counties, to be observed by them in making proclamation of the holding of said election in their respective juris dictions. SECTION 10. That the Secretary of the Commonwealth be authorized to obtain for said convention, prior to the meeting of the same, such publications relating to constitutional amendment and reform, and cause to be prepared such statistical infor mation as may be convenient and useful to the convention in the performance of its duties, and the proper expense so incurred, not exceeding six hundred dollars, shall be paid at the. Treasury upon settlement made in the office of the Auditor-General. W. ELLIOTT, Speaker of the House of Representatives. JAMES S. RUTAN, Speaker of the Senate. "They Say" is a Nuisance. He is forever making mischief. Forever poking his nose into somebody's business. Forever viilifying somebody's character. Forever doing something mean. We sus pect, "They say" has ruined about as many people as whisky and the faro bank. “They say" is a snake in the grass; professing the warmest friendship to your face, he vilely traduces you behind your back—not in the first person singular, be it remembered, for he is too crafty for that, but he retails, with Aminidab Sleek like sorrow, what other people say of you—in short, what "They Say !" "They Say" is a humbug. • Tear off the hypocritical mask he wears, and you shall see, very often baseness and knavery of the blackest kind. Sometimes we admit, "They Say" is weak-minded, and slanders people more through ignorance and thoughtlessness, than a wish to destroy their good name, but he is none the less a nuisance for that, and God help his victim in either ease. A WESTERN editor's editorial statement, "We are living at this moment under ab solute despotism," is .explained by his co temproaries by the fact that he has lately been married. NO. 16. Mit 'tow Tirclt. The Strange Prayer. The worst man in the village was Jack Ben ny. He had a comfortable home, but it was not a happy one. As soon as the big gate opened, his two children Hilly and Rob, ran into the house, exclaiming, "Father is com ing" and into a corner they crouched, and there they stayed until they were ordered to bed. There was no clapping of hands, no ruby lips turned up to receive father's kiss, in Jack's house. No, his children stood in awe of him • for often, after the day's work was over, did be go home drunk, and then be was cross, and would strike the first otiewbo came in his way. One day he was driving his cart, when the harness broke, and the horse backed until his new cart was pushed into a deep gutter and broken.—Jack sprang from his scat and began to beat the horses most unmercifutly with his whip handle, while oath after oath rolled from his togae, calling on God to "dam his soul." A little boy had been rolling his hoop up and down the pavement, but when he heard the awful words, he caught bin hoop in hand and stopped. Stepping up to Jack while his beautiful eyes. wore fall of tears, heeds-a trembling voice.— "0, sir, is that the way you pray?" Jack turned, in perfect astonishment, but said nothing. '.oh I" continued the little fellow, lowering his voice to a whisper, "Didn't you ask God to damn your soul? 0 sir, hadn't you better take it back before God hears it ?" An impatient exclamation was the only re ply, and the little boy walked away. There was a strange tenderness about Jack's heart, that be had scarcely ever felt before, and as he looked down the street, he saw that the little fellow walked very slowly along, forget ting to roll his hoop, and then a strange mis tiness crept over his eyes. Ah I the few kind words of that little boy set Jack to thinking, and made him feel his sinfulness as be had never felt it before. They brought him to repentance, and msdehim a changed man. It was not long before the people on every side were asking in astonishment.— "What an earth is the matter with Jack Ranney 1" Ah l little reader, a brighter star will shine in that little boy's crown in the kingdom of heaven, for his words were blessed to the sa ving of the precious soul of the worst man in the village. Jack Benny was a Christian.— Good Woords. Bereane. The Chicago Advance tells the following suggestive incident : "Henan" Christians are not as numerous as they should be ; those who. when they hear a discourse, from the pulpit,'"Search the Scrip tures daily, whether these things are so," even when it is an apostle who has preached. Indeed, testing sermons by the Bible has so far gone out of fashion, that in many churches hardly a Bible is now to be found in all pews We were not a little pleased, therefore, the other evening, at the exercises of a certain "conference meeting" in one of our city churches. A popular preacher from a dis tance, on the preceding Sunday, had delivered certain novel views to a crowded audience, and the sentiments uttered had been favorably re ceived by not a few. But the ' , Borealis" had been to work-with their Bibles, during the three intervening days, and the prayer meet ing night brought on the result. One of the brethren opened a battery of artillery on the preacher's position from the Word of God; several others unlimbered similiar guns, and brought them to bear ; add soon a cannonade along the whole line swept away the last ves tige of the almost erroneous impression of the popular sermonizer. Tne truth was vindica ted, Christian liberty had asserted itself ; the Scriptures had been elevated to their true rank, above the dictum of human authority and human applause, and the church meeting had proved a happy balance to the pulpit. We commend Berean example. Strangely do some people talk of getting over a great sorrow ; overleaping it, passing it by, thrusting it into oblivion. Not so. No one ever does that—at least no nature which can be touched by the feeling of grief at all. The only way is to pass through the ocean of affliction soloninly, slowly, with humility and faith, as the Israelites passed through the sea. Then its very waves of misery will di vide and become to us a wall on the right side and on the left, until the gulf narrows before our eyes, and we land safe on the opposite shore.—Mies iftdoch. The Last Match, I remember (and I do not know whether it was legend or not) that a missionary party were passing over the prairie, when one o them exclaimed : "See that red glare ; what is it?" They looked and watched, and one old trap per, shading his eyes with bis righthand, cried out. "The prairie is on fire, and it is spreading at the rate of twenty miles an hour. It will de stroy us, and nothing will be left but a few _ . 'mg over the prairie." "What shall be done ?" The trapper cried : "We must fight fire with fire. Work! work! Pull up the grass ; make the circle larger larger, larger. Quick, quick ! I feet the heat upon my brow ! Quick, for your lives I pull up the grass I Now for the matches I' They searched, and found two. Hastily they struck one, and it failed, utterly failed ! One match ! and the fire coming in the dis tance ; leaping with its forked tongues through the dry grass at twenty miles an hour ! Only one match 1 . . _ The missionary, bearing his brow, said ; "God help us, for Thy great name's sake, help us in our extremity." Every heart prompted the words, and the lips uttered "Amen." They struck the match ; it caught fire, and the grass was ignited ; and as the fire formed them in a circle, they marched on triumphant, exultant, victorious. Our instrumentalties, whatever they may be, are as feeble as that one match. Before we put forth our efforts, then, let us reverently ask God to help us for His great name's sake, and we, with those we have worked for, shall stand in the circle unharmed, while the flames play away at the distance, and we stand saved, aur w ., ._.acacusa, Janzawa efforts blessed and acknowledged by Him in whose bands are the destinies of all men. Going to Jesus Nearly three years ago, a noble steamer was sinking with hundres of persons on board. Only one boat load was saved. As a man was leaping into a tossing boat, a girl who could not be taken into the boat, and who knew that she would soon be swallowed up in the deep, deep sea, handed him a note, saying. "Give this to my mother 1" The man was saved. The girl, with hun dreds of other persons, was drowned. The mother had the note. What do you think the little girl had written in it ? Here are her words : "Dear mother, you must not grieve for me. I am going to Jesus." Dear girls 1 What faith and courage she must have had to write that note ! She was going to Jesus through the stormy waves of the angry sea, yet she was not afraid. That's the kind of faith you need, my reader. Well, Jesus will give it you if you ask him, for he says. "Come unto me. I will giveyon rest." ....... It makes dying easy to know that we are going to the bright home which Jesus has gone to make very beautiful. Let us get rea dy for that bright home by loving Jesus. - Baca drop in the bitter cup is measured out y the unerring hand of the heavenly Physi ian, who never makes mistakes, nor ceases to watch his patient for one moment. Goo can feed us with himself without either ministers or'church; and it is well worth being deprived of the comfort of either or both, to be driven to him, the fountain of living waters. _ Loos on death an a sunken fence, and look over and beyond it to the other aide.
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